Page 20 of Witch’s Ruin

He’d stolen the sheet from the bed, wrapped it around his waist, tucked it in. I couldn’t help my eyes, lingering on the hair that shot straight down to his cock, now hidden, and the rigid muscles flexing as he lowered himself into the chair.

I bolted up and rounded the table, plopping into his lap. He chuckled, scooting the tray towards us. I began pouring juice as he arranged the spread.

He started with the bacon, feeding me straight from his fingers. Every brush of my lips against his thumb had heat blossoming low in my gut. We’d only just fucked and I was already on edge again. The thing inside me was insatiable.

It was erotic, the way he saw to my needs. We devoured everything on the tray. Rixon always had an ample appetite. Never one to turn down food. Where he put it, I couldn’t say. “It doesn’t even turn to fat,” I groused. “It just makes your muscles bigger and bigger.”

Not so for me. It just pooled in my thighs. I did have generous thighs and hips, even if I didn’t have large breasts. But, Rixon had made it abundantly clear that he loved everything about me, exactly as it was.

“All the better to protect you with, my love,” he cooed, rubbing his nose against the side of my jaw before taking the juice goblet and chugging it down. “Now, we have business to address. You want a bath, I take it?”

I snorted. “I’m covered in cum. So, yes.”

“But I like you covered in me,” he purred.

“It’s sticky,” I tsked.

“Very well.” His eyes sparkled. “Let’s make it fast.”

And by that he meant, bend me over the lip of the bathing pool so he could fuck me from behind. We did make it fast. There was no playing involved. He finished me in minutes before washing my hair and body. I did the same for him, and then we were dressed and striding through the palace, off to chase our quarry.

Chapter 8

Rixon

Rixon made a few inquiries before leaving the palace. The Citadel witches were staying at an inn called the King’s Mantle. Mina had snorted, at that. Apparently his father hadn’t been gracious enough to host them in the palace. He wasn’t surprised in the slightest. His father had never liked witches. Perhaps that was partly why he’d found himself in the Citadel, all those years ago; it had given him secret satisfaction.

Considering his father’s biting words last night, about how he’d stooped so low, the blade had hit the mark. But his father had it all wrong. There’d been no stooping, well, except when he was on his knees for her. No, to claim her, it had been all striving and plotting and reaching. He was damned lucky she’d chosen him. He hadn’t known how lucky, that first day when they’d bonded. But now? Now, he knew. And fuck if he didn’t want to drop to his knees, here and now, and thank her for it.

It was a short walk, in a nicer part of the city, a few blocks from Ivory Row. Marvin Downing’s shop wasn’t far, either. A sudden thought came to mind. He saved it for later.

The streets were busy this time of day, people rushing about, trying to complete errands. With curfew at nightfall, there was less time in the day to get things done. Most passersby didn’t pay him any mind, except the few gaping at his weapons. He was dressed like a well armed commoner, not a prince.

“It’s rather quaint, isn’t it?” Mina asked, stopping before the King’s Mantle. It was a square, white-washed building with navy blue window shutters and picturesque planter boxes beneath each one. It stood five levels tall. There was a large garden in front, gated, for its patrons. A small porch was occupied by several of them, in rocking chairs.

He opened the garden gate and they strode down the path and into the inn. The entryway was inviting and grand, with high ceilings and a crystal chandelier. His boots sank into a plush rug, intricately woven in reds and golds. They found an attendant behind a desk. A mousy woman with gray hair and spectacles.

Through an archway on his left, there was a dining room with clusters of tables and several late diners, eating breakfast. An arch on his right led to a comfortable common room with a fireplace at one end. Already, there were clusters of people, some with books in hand, others chatting.

“How may I help you, sir? Madam?” The attendant looked between them.

“Oh, hello,” Mina said, stepping forward, inquiring after the witches residing within the inn.

The attendant caught sight of Mina’s hand, her markings, and directed them into the common room. “Through there,” she said. “And please let me know if I can be of any further assistance, Lady Witch.”

Mina strode through the arched doorway, glancing around. He stayed close on her heels. At first, nothing happened, then several conversations fell silent. “Don’t tell me the king placed an order for more of us,” a voice drawled.

Mina covered the distance, approaching the cluster of witches. “He certainly did,” she answered, coming to a stop beside an occupied cluster of furniture. “Hello.”

There were four witches and two wielders. They sat in a circle on sofas and chairs closest to the large fireplace. Everyone’s eyes fell on him, not Mina. For a moment, it caught him off guard. Wielder’s were generally beneath notice among witches.

It only took a moment to discover the reason. One of the witches said,“So! It’s true then. We heard the rumors this morning. Not only did the king’s son return, but he returned as a welder.” The woman was older, late forties, perhaps? Or, early fifties? Her chestnut hair was already streaked with thin strands of silver. “Brilliant. Just, brilliant. And you, dear?”

“Aramina. Mina for short. And this is my wielder, Rixon.”

“I thought the prince’s name was Aleksander?” one of the other witches pipped up. She was younger, perhaps late twenties, with caramel skin and curly black hair that framed her face with tight coils.

Mina smiled at her. “Aleksander Rixon Kozma. He prefers Rixon, but you may address him as Lord Wielder or Your Highness.”